road, then out onto a main road that would eventually lead her to town. Once there, she’d borrow a phone and call...
Who?
Not Violetta. She loved her sister, but she couldn’t count on her. Not the way she’d thought she could. Violetta’s loyalties were torn. She wanted to support Reginald and see him freed from prison. Esme knew that, and she knew why. It wasn’t all about love and family. At least not according to the FBI, it wasn’t. Violetta had been happy to take whatever gifts Reginald offered—money for a new car, financial backing to support her business, new windows for her house. Esme had been shown a list of all the things her sister had accepted from Reginald.
At first, she’d argued that Violetta hadn’t known where Reginald was getting the money. But, of course, the FBI had been prepared for that. They’d proved her wrong. Violetta had known...she just hadn’t cared. She’d kept her hands clean, but she sure hadn’t been willing to jeopardize Reginald’s career. After all, she was benefiting too much from it.
The last time Esme had seen her sister had been six months ago. Violetta had looked just as cool and reserved as ever, her beautiful face not showing even a hint of stress or anxiety. Esme, on the other hand, had been a mess. But, then, she was the one who’d watched a man die. She was the one who’d had to make a choice between family and justice. She was the one who was swimming against the tide and doing exactly what her family didn’t want her to.
And she was the one who’d pay with her life if her uncle got his hands on her again.
Esme shuddered, her skin clammy from the humid air, her body leaden from too many restless nights. She had to believe that she was going to get through this. She had to trust that God would keep her safe, that doing the right thing would always be best even when it felt so horribly wrong.
Betrayer. Traitor. Turncoat.
Her uncle’s words were still in her head, the feel of his fingers around her throat enough to make her want to gag. She stumbled, tripping over a root and going down hard, her hands and knees sliding across damp earth, her shoulder bumping into a tree trunk.
She lay where she was for a few minutes too long, the muted sound of voices carrying on the still night air. Maybe she should go to the parking lot, turn herself in to the authorities and hope and pray that they could keep her safe. That seemed so much easier than going it alone.
It also seemed more dangerous.
A woman had died, and she’d almost been killed because of an information leak. Ian had told her the leak had been plugged, but she couldn’t count on that. She couldn’t really count on anything.
“Your pity party is getting you nowhere,” she muttered, pushing up onto her hands and knees.
A cool wet nose pressed against her cheek, and King huffed quietly. She jerked back, looking into his dark face. He was a handsome dog when he wasn’t snarling and showing teeth. Right now, he looked like he was smiling again, his tongue lolling out to the side.
“I think I told you to find your partner,” she scolded, forcing herself up. Lying around feeling sorry for herself would accomplish absolutely nothing. Going back into the situation that had almost gotten her killed would do the same.
She had to stay the course—find a place to go to ground until trial, then contact the authorities and arrange to be escorted to court. Armed guards would be great. Six or seven dogs like King would be a nice bonus.
Right now, though...
Right now, she just had to find a safe place to hide.
She started walking again, trudging through saw grass and heading away from the emergency vehicles. There were no streetlights on the road, no beacons to lead her in the right direction. She went by instinct, the rising moon giving her at least some idea of what direction she was heading.
Northeast would bring her to the road.
The road would bring her to civilization.
She’d figure out everything else once she got there.
The grass opened up, the earth dried out and she could see the road winding snakelike through the Everglades. She stepped onto it, her ankle throbbing, her stomach churning. After three days and nights in the Everglades, it felt strange to be out in the open. No water surrounding her. No foliage to shelter in. She could see emergency lights to the left, so she turned right, trudging along the road as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Five miles wasn’t much.
She loved hiking, biking and running. Before she’d entered witness protection, she’d been training for a half marathon. Walking a few miles should have been a piece of cake, but she felt like she was slogging through mud, her legs heavy with fatigue.
King pressed close to her leg, his shoulder brushing her thigh as they walked. He didn’t look nervous, and she took that as a good sign. It wasn’t good that he was sticking to her like glue, however, because eventually his handler would come looking for him. When he did, he’d find Esme, too.
Unless Esme could ditch the dog.
She patted the pockets of her cargo pants, found the package of peanut butter crackers she’d planned to eat for dinner. She opened it, the rustling paper not even garnering a glance from King.
She slipped a cracker from the sleeve, held it out to the dog. “Hungry?” she asked.
He ignored her and the cracker.
“King?” She nudged the cracker close to his mouth.
He didn’t break his stride, didn’t look at the food.
“It’s peanut butter. Peanut butter is good. Fetch!” She waved it closer to his face, then threw it back in the direction they’d come.
It hit the pavement, and King just kept walking.
Esme blew out a frustrated breath. Great...just great. Now she’d end up in town with a dog that didn’t belong to her. Probably a very expensive dog. The FBI wouldn’t be happy if she left the state with one of their dogs in tow.
For all she knew, she’d be charged with kidnapping.
Dognapping?
“King!” she said, trying to put an edge of command in her voice. “Sit!”
He didn’t.
“Fetch!” She tried another cracker. “Retrieve!”
“Do you not speak English?” she asked, stopping short and eyeing the dog. He was still wearing his vest, a logo on the side announcing that he was a law enforcement dog. Esme wasn’t sure about much lately, but she knew this—she did not look like a law enforcement officer. At least not one that was on duty. She didn’t have a uniform, a gun or a holster. And no badge. If she made it to town, people would wonder what she was doing with a dog who was obviously supposed to be working.
“This is a problem,” she said, crouching a few feet from the dog and watching him. He was watching her just as steadily.
“Listen, buddy, I’m sure your handler told you to follow me, but I’d prefer you go back to what you were doing before
